


Falling Through The Ice

by Pres310



Category: Homestuck, Vast Error
Genre: A lot of ice metaphors, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Mind Aspect, Mind Reading, Past Relationship(s), Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Serpaz died offscreen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24059248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pres310/pseuds/Pres310
Summary: How do you cope with falling in love with your biggest rival?And how do you go about dancing around that thin ice?
Relationships: Murrit Turkin/Dismas Mersiv
Comments: 5
Kudos: 46





	1. Falling Through The Ice

Yearning was not an unfamiliar feeling to Murrit or Dismas. Murrit, on one hand, was given sweeps to familiarize himself with the dull ache in his gut, the curve of his Kismesis’s jaw, the fading memory of the one time he’d semi-tenderly set a hand on Murrit’s arm, a feeling that struck him to his core. He had plenty of time to bury every crimson-coated, cloying thought of Dismas’s hands, the scars over his lips, the bitter glint in his eyes. He had plenty of time to exaggerate his taunting of Dismas in hopes he wouldn't see straight through him.

  
_The night was hazy, foggy, and grey with the oncoming dawn light. You sat boneless and breathless on the edge of a canyon, thoughts fuzzy, mouth lazy as you mumbled endlessly into the night sky. Your bones seemed to melt into the rough, rocky ground beneath you._  
_Through your shutter shades, you became dully aware of the familiar figure standing above you, and somehow hyper aware of your limbs and how you didn't know what to do with them suddenly. Dismas stood tall above you, Jade-smeared hands on his knees, glare sharp and bitter, and you knew exactly where your comfort zone was. Nothing but pitch affection between you two, as dark and angry as it had always been._  
_And then Dismas opened his mouth beneath his bandana to speak, and for just a moment, there was some sort of hitch in your chest, in every limited function you were able to do in that moment. It was as though the clock itself had stopped time for just one agonizing second, the feeling branding itself on you'd skin._  
_And then the feeling was gone. It felt so far-off, so distant, as if it had never happened. Maybe it never had._

  
Murrit had plenty of time to familiarize himself with the crushing, black-hole feeling in his chest whenever he looked through his glassy multitudes of screens and thought Dismas might get a little too close to actually dying. He had sweeps upon sweeps to get used to the cruel things his heart did to his ribs the couple of times Dismas had accidentally texted Murrit instead of Jentha. He took those times to pretend that tenderness, that softness was his. 

  
_It's not like the pitch feelings are a mask. There are moments in time where antagonizing Dismas never felt greater, and truthfully those feelings are still hanging on by a thread. But you know that Dismas is more to you than just somebody who can make you a better troll, you know that whatever he was to you in the distant past has run its course. He’s one of the only great things life has given you, and you don't know how to deal with that._  
_You still love annoying him. Whether it be negative or positive (it's almost always negative), you soak up every ounce of attention he gives you like a sponge. Your role might be the thief of time, but damn, you really know how to be a thief of attention._  
_You think that sometimes he can tell that you're overcompensating, just a little bit._

  
Murrit had plenty of time to ball up his fists when his hands wouldn't stop shaking. He had plenty of time to contemplate ripping up the body pillow that taunted him on occasion. Then he had plenty of time to mumble endlessly into the empty void of his island, or the busy void of the game, or the metaphorical dry erase board that was their new universe.   
The eleven of you decide to have a night by the fire pit once, just to keep yourselves sane at the very least. Everybody can feel the gaping hole where Serpaz should be, but nobody mentions it. Everybody hovers around it, like if they get too close they’ll just get sucked in and destroyed.

  
_There’s almost a chill in the air, but the fire is hot enough that you can't really feel it._  
_By now, you can recognize the warm, almost sticky feeling in your chest when you see Dismas as plain, pure pity. Tonight, you're trying to pass it off as just you being tipsy, but you’ve been tipsy before and it doesn't feel like this._  
_“You think I don't trust you?” You’ve been bickering with Dismas for a hot minute now and you can only guess he’s a lot further along towards getting drunk than you are because holy shit that’s certainly not what you expected to come out of his mouth._  
_“Ah, now that’s not what I was saying, phossey mouth,” You brush off everything you said beforehand. Dismas only seems to prod further._  
_“That's exactly what you said, Dumbass.” they weren't your exact words but you don't care enough to correct him. “We both wouldn't be here right now if I didn't stupidly put trust in you on multiple occasions.”_  
_And that’s all the reassurance you can handle for one night._

  
Dismas, on the other hand, had a little less time to cope with the way he faltered whenever the two fought a little too hard. He had less time to bury the urge to tenderly hold Murrit’s hands and study every feature of them, before gently pressing his lips to Murrit’s icy palms. Dismas had less time to cringe at every thought and image in his head about Murrit’s dumb fucking glasses, his stupid Hawaiian shirt, and his mind-numbing voice. His mind felt like a checkerboard of red and black, and at this point the two colors are beginning to blur together.

  
_You notice the very second Murrit starts softening around you, and you notice the exact second he begins overcompensating to cover it up. You know part of being his kismesis is making him the best person he can be, but… there’s something in you that stops you from digging at it. You're scared that if you do, you're going to fall into territory that actually_ will _ruin something or make you scared of Murrit, more scared of him than the rough, dangerous, toxic seas of your planet you're so inexplicably terrified of, and you’ll come out of it just the same; soaking wet, breathless, and weak._

  
Dismas had less time to process the strange twist in his gut when, during that god awful game, some Alternate Timeline Murrit would have to sacrifice themself to save his sorry ass. The thought was always one to draw a cold shudder down his spine; he’d seen enough Violet blood and mangled seadweller corpses for one lifetime.

  
_Murrit would drop any facade or mask of his the minute he saw the possibility of you using your aspect on him. He’d rip off his glasses and grab you by your bandana to make you look him in his eyes, make it very strongly known to you that you had no business rummaging about in his mind._  
_You never got the chance before to even steal a thought from him._

  
Their kismesitude had once been as solid as a frozen lake. The bitter, winter chill solidifying the hate between them, a foundation the two could safely skate on. Winter brought a mutual bitter, biting cold, the stagnant icy air somehow comfortable for the two. And so they would skate around like that, for sweeps, before spring would begin to bring unfamiliar warmth. Spring, that brought the cloying, saccharine scent of flowers and new beginnings and too bright of colors and too much noise. Spring that brought a kind of warmth that frightened them both, the two trolls sharing bitter glances as they danced nervously around the thinning ice and dangerously close to the murky water. At some point, maybe they knew but never acknowledged that one of them would skate a little too close, and the ice would splinter and crack. One of them would drop into unfamiliar, dark water, blind, with all the breath stolen from their lungs and all of the control taken from their body.

  
And so Murrit fell through the ice. 

  
•

  
Funnily enough, it was the first day of spring in their new universe. Dismas scrunched up his eyes at the sun- the sun that was… nothing like what they’d experienced on Repiton- that hurt his eyes, but didn't immediately burn him on the spot, which was… a nice change. But even with all of the new wonder of having a new universe, all to the eleven of them… there was still a gaping hole in what their new universe should have been. Obviously, the sacrifice had been necessary for them to win but… it still stung, it still felt like somebody was twisting a knife in the group’s collective guts. And Dismas was on his way to the one troll that was probably affected the most.

  
Lavain had obviously taken Serpaz’s death the hardest. They were matesprits, after all. The group had all taken turns checking in on Lavain, making sure he hadn’t completely gone off the deep end. Making sure he was on a road to recovery, while still giving him enough space.

  
The blueblood was thin, a hollow mess of what he’d once been. Dark, grey-blue circles lined his eyes, and it was obvious he was kind of vacillating between four of the five stages of grief. Seeing his friend frail and weak-kneed, Dismas was quick to offer a hand to help Lavain stand up, only to be waved off.

The good thing was that Dismas could get his friend to eat and to talk to him, which was really all he could ask of the grieving Lavain. At some point he might have seen a small smile across his face that made Dismas feel so extremely relieved. And at some point, maybe while the two trolls were playing some video games, Lavain had messaged Murrit. Dismas hadn't even taken notice until he noticed Lavain freeze, concern immediately entering his mind when he heard a quiet wheeze at his side. Lavain shook Dismas’s shoulder, an indiscernible look on his face.

  
“Okay- shit, this may not be my place to tell you this,” Lavain’s stomach was already about to drop to his heels. There were so many words that could come out of Lavain’s mouth, so many timelines sprouting out from here, but to Dismas’s further confusion… Lavain was silent. Instead, there was a phone being placed into Dismas’s palms that somehow felt both heavier than cement and lighter than air.

  
“I just… thought you deserved to know,” Lavain’s voice was tense and carried just enough of the awkward weight of this situation. Murrit’s messages were always slathered in a thick layer of misdirection, slang, and metaphor, but today it was frosted in an even thicker layer of insecure mystery. Through all that, though, the meaning was clear. 

  
Dismas’s mind had just up and fucking quit at this point. His heart had taken on the responsibility of going absolutely apeshit, and he felt like the phone in his hand was burning a hole straight through his palm. At one moment, he was directly in his comfort zone, pitch and angry and seeing red because what the fuck was this moron thinking? And disgust and shock pulled him far from his comfort zone as sweeps of dirt he’d piled over his own developing pity for Murrit were dug up. His head hurt as though it was full of thoughts, of that same murky water as Dismas almost dropped the phone he’d been holding.

  
Murrit was flushed for Dismas.

  
Dismas needed to talk to him

  
Murrit had been flushed for Dismas for sweeps…

  
and Dismas did not want to handle this right now. Not in front of Lavain, who’d just lost his own Matesprit.

  
Murrit had fallen through the ice and Dismas was helpless to pull him up and he didn't know if he could bring himself to fall through with him.

  
•

  
“Murrit,” The seadweller heard his own name through the static of blood pumping loud in his ears. His fist was clenched so tightly that his claws dug hard into the palms of his hand, his other hand vice-gripping the rail of his hive’s porch. His fangs were sinking hard into the meat of his cheek as he held back the Violet tears brimming in his eyes. He tried to stop the shaking in his shoulders, the rattling in his shallow breaths. “Murrit-”

  
“Nah, I heard you the first time, cowboy,” His voice was dry, tense. He could almost see his kismesis recoil. The two sat in silence for a moment, when a bombshell was silently dropped; Dismas reached out with a shaky hand to softly clasp Murrit’s wrist, fingers just barely brushing together. Now it was the seadweller’s turn to recoil, a shudder shooting down his spine. As much as he wanted this, the change was too much, and couldn't things stay like they always were?

  
“Good,” there was an attempt at humor. “I- Holy shit, you're crying,” Murrit hadn't even noticed the one tear he accidentally let slip, but he internally cursed himself for it as he felt other’s slipping, along with his facade. He… definitely didn't expect to feel a pair of hands turning him to face his kismesis and actually comforting him. And he didn't expect to feel his knees almost collapse, his breath hitching in the fabric of Dismas’s shirt that faintly smelled of wood smoke. There was a shaky hand trying to gently rub his back, and the other was still loose around Murrit’s wrist. Murrit shut his eyes tightly, so tightly that he didn't notice the way his mind and body seemed to loosen, so tightly he didn't notice the slight mint glow in his head, around his body, pulsing behind his eyes.

  
“I've really fucked up this time, eh, cowpoke? I got a lil too close to someone who hates me and now we’re kinda in a pickle, aren't we?” his jaws felt loose, words spilling out of him with rare fluency. “I fucked you up and that's all my fault and yadayadayada, just…”

  
“You didn't mess me up, dumbass,” Dismas almost chuckled. “I… you caught me off guard…” his voice trailed off, his own mind blurry as he sifted through Murrit’s, words lost on him. neither troll knew where this was going, And so they sat in silence, Dismas gently tugging at the strings of Murrit’s tangled mind. As He tenderly tore through his thin veil of confidence, a strong wave of Murrit’s fear, guilt, feelings of powerlessness washed over Dismas so harshly that his knees almost buckled underneath him. His hand twitched, grip briefly tightening on the wrinkled Hawaiian shirt beneath his palm.  
Dismas almost teared up at what he found underneath that helplessness, not with anger or angst or happiness, but more of being overwhelmed, like smelling a perfume too strongly. It was every moment that Dismas made Murrit’s heart flutter in his chest, every time he’d given Murrit a look that made his Kismesis’s face wash a slight shade of Violet beneath his shades. Every time he watched Dismas through his screen like a hawk, every time Murrit practically used his shades as a stress ball when Dismas got into too tight of a situation.  
Beneath the fondness that created a deep, pulling ache in Dismas’s chest, was just… a deep, confusing void. The world was in a mess of blacks and blues and flashes of gold and Dismas shakily made his way through lonely nights of disassociation so bad that time was lost on both the trolls. A million emotions were being thrown at Dismas at once and neither troll noticed as they both sank to their knees on the porch, clinging hard to each other as they both shook like leaves in the wind.  
Dismas kept prodding further, Murrit’s weaknesses, joys, and fears laid out bare and vulnerable for him. He went deeper, curious, lost in the mint green glow pulsing strongly behind his eyes-

  
There was a small sound of confusion and protest in Dismas’s chest. He pulled away, forcing himself to not bottle up the warm pity and cold guilt that blossomed in his chest at the look of sheer fear and upset that Dismas had never seen on Murrit’s face before. The two were breathing heavily, both tense and worn down.

  
“I'm sorry,” Dismas blurted. “I'm so, so sorry.” Murrit stayed silent, wide eyes still set on Dismas’s. Murrit let go of Dismas, sitting back as he slowly collected the pieces of himself that Dismas had greedily gone through.

  
Murrit sat with those pieces for a few minutes, piecing them together with what he’d been given from Dismas’s own mind. The disappointment, not at Murrit’s antagonizing but more at the fact that he’d lied to Dismas and hid this part of himself for so long. The growing anger, shock, and confusion that soon grew warmer, melted like ice, and became something akin to Red, crimson flushing.

  
“I'm gonna try something,” Murrit said slowly. “And I'm gonna need you to punch me if this isn't something you want.” Part of Dismas knew what was about to happen, and part of him was still bleary-eyed and confused. Murrit scooted forward on shaky hands and knees, one hand reaching up to cautiously cup Dismas’s jaw. There was a moment when Murrit was close enough to feel Dismas’s breath on his face, and he considered pausing time, just to stay there in that moment for a while. To sit there in that tender moment, safe and sound, no fear of what the future meant for them.   
  
When Murrit kissed Dismas, it may have been awkward and tense, but the two still cherished that moment, still found themselves smiling into it. When Murrit pulled away from it, sitting back, Dismas matched the rare, blissful smile on his face.

  
Relearning each other would be an adventure. Learning to be tender with one another, to fill a role they’d previously thought unfit, would be an adventure. But in that moment the two both thought that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be impossible.


	2. Warm Waters, Cold Barriers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bluh this was supposed to also have a section on intimacy but at the same time,,,,, mental health wack

Relearning one’s own emotions was already an adventure on its own; having to completely relearn not only yourself, but also the greatest thing your life had given you, was a task worth a lifetime.

  
•

  
It was the first afternoon of summer in their new universe. The day was hot, and a pair of trolls were basking in the sun for the first time in a long time. The vast sea spread out before them, waves batting gently at the beach.   
  
The sand was pale, warm, and soft. The breeze was gentle and almost seemed to coddle the two trolls, brushing past them softly. The waves just barely brushed Murrit’s ankles, his shirt unbuttoned down to his belt, one of the sleeves hanging limply off his shoulder. Murrit lounged on the sand, shoulders back, elbows digging into the ground. Sharp, Violet grub scars just barely poked out from his shirt, the breeze rustling his clothes and inky black hair.  
Dismas sat with his legs crossed, a couple feet away from his… his Matesprit. God, he still couldn't wrap his mind around that word; he could wrap his mind around the fact that for sweeps, they’d hated each other mutually. They’d been each other’s rivals for so long, and now Dismas couldn't imagine not being flushed for Murrit. But… Matesprit. Matesprit. It was a word full of meaning, full of confusing strings not even the Rogue of Mind could pull through. They’d both fallen through the ice together, but at least now they’d learned to swim.

  
At least, metaphorically.

  
Despite one of them being a seadweller… neither had ever been in a safe enough space to learn how to swim. Repiton’s waters were always full of either toxic chemicals or deadly, mutant Lusii.

  
Well, never a better time to learn than now.

  
“What the hell, Babe?” Dismas half-sputtered as a rogue Hawaiian shirt was tossed over his head, hanging like a plastic bag off his horns. Pulling it off, Dismas’s words turned to sand in his mouth as he felt a rising warmth in his face. Murrit, all Sharp edges with a shark-toothed smile, looked down on Dismas. His shirt had given him a weird triangular tan line, and there were scars from The Game crossing his torso and arms. Murrit’s intentions dawned on Dismas with a groan.

  
“You do realize neither of us learned how to swim, right?”

  
“No better time to learn than now,” Murrit flippantly said, looking out at the waves. Though he kept up confidence, Dismas had known Murrit for sweeps upon sweeps now. He could see an underlying bit of fear in Murrit’s demeanor, in the slight way he hesitated before stepping further into the water.

  
Dismas had to remind himself that he didn't have to bury the spark of worry that came when Murrit was up to his knees in seawater. They weren't on Repiton anymore, they could… just swim. There weren't any mutant Lusii in the ocean that would rip Murrit to shreds the minute he-

  
“Shit, let me come with you,” Dismas scrunched up his nose at Murrit’s laugh. Tossing aside his own shirt, he joined his Matesprit in the sea.

  
Vulnerability was a mystery to Dismas. He could work with the way he softened around his moirail, Jentha. He could work with the platonic, pale warmth he felt during their feelings jams. But Murrit… Murrit was different. Dismas couldn't cope with the way that his skin crawled when Murrit’s eyes lingered over him long and slow. He couldn't cope with the slight anger that sparked in his mind whenever he saw the orange scars covering his own body. He couldn't cope with the way his mind would short-circuit every time Murrit let his facade slip, every time his perpetual smirk grew slightly softer, more genuine, almost nervous as if it was an expression he was still getting used to.

  
And maybe he was.

  
The most relieving thing about being vulnerable around Murrit was that Murrit was learning, too. The two could awkwardly relearn each other together. They could frightfully dance around each other’s boundaries for however long they needed, and it took some of the tension and awkwardness away from the two to know that they could take all the time they needed.

  
The water was up to Dismas and Murrit’s mid thighs when the two finally stopped walking. Dismas personally couldn't stand the feeling of his pants being wet, but… fuck, he hated sounding Sappy, but it was worth it. One of Murrit’s hands was shakily set on Dismas’s elbow, a slight tremor in his shoulders.

  
“I shouldn'ta yoinked you out this far,” Murrit remarked with a flippant laugh. Dismas raised an eyebrow.

  
“Why not?”

  
“Well, neither of us exactly have our sea legs, and uhh… only one of us can breathe underwater,” Murrit reasoned. Knees already feeling weak, Dismas was struck with possibly one of the dumbest ideas he’d had yet. Naturally, he acted on it. He let himself fall into the water, pulling Murrit with him. There was a shriek from the seadweller as he fell, a protest almost escaping his mouth before he was beneath the waves.  
The water was cold, glass-clear, and neither troll noticed this because they were fucking terrified. Dismas and Murrit clung tightly to each other for moments at a time, claws digging into each other’s backs. Both their eyes were shut tightly, still a lingering fear of being blinded by acidic waters. Twin hearts beat frightfully quick in their chests, the only noise audible aside from the blood rushing in their ears.  
When Dismas opened his eyes, he almost flinched at Murrit’s mullet drifting into his eyes. He loosened his grip on Murrit, and he couldn't tell if his partner’s heavy breathing was from fear or from his gills practically never being used. Bubbles tickled Dismas’s shoulder as Murrit panickedly murmured into Dismas’s shoulder.

  
When Murrit pulled away, Dismas was just beginning to run out of breath. The two tried to kick and paddle away from each other, slowly getting the hang of things and drifting with the current that was batting them around. And as much as he wanted to see Murrit learn, Dismas was out of breath and still scared. Breaking the surface, an oncoming wave knocked him beneath the surface once before Dismas stood up on shaky knees. He gazed down upon Murrit, pride swelling in Dismas’s chest as he smiled down at his partner who was finding his way through the water. He was almost surprised that Murrit hadn't attempted anything-

  
Dismas swore loudly as Murrit tackled him into the ocean. His vision was blurry, breath stolen from him in an instant. He tried to wriggle away from The Seadweller, only to be held tighter. There was a blurry, Pearl-white smile shining sharply in Dismas’s face. There was a pair of Violet eyes that finally didn't feel like they were scanning and judging every single soft edge and orange scar on Dismas’s body. There were arms securely wrapped around him, and there was such a wordlessly positive air around the two trolls.

  
Vulnerability was a hard thing to master.

  
But Dismas was one step closer to it.

•  
  
Affection was a mystery to Murrit. To be fair, neither of the two trolls exactly knew how to maneuver it, but Murrit was especially bad. He hovered around the idea nervously, gathering up the courage every once in a while to intertwine his hand with Dismas’s, or to casually call him cute or handsome, or- and this was the most nerve-wracking for sure- to press a kiss to Dismas’s often chapped lips. He knew he could do it and Dismas wouldn't exactly mind, but… something inside him held him back.

  
The two spent a majority of their time together- likely a product of their rough and lonely upbringings- which they both found enough. Just to be around one another comfortably, no overly-saccharine displays of affection needed. Besides, the two couldn't stand being solitary for a long time anymore. 

  
Though, there was one thing that Dismas slowly began to notice about his Matesprit.  
Murrit was clingy.

  
Not all the time, of course. In fact, sometimes Dismas would listen or even join in as Murrit would joke about a couple he’d once known who’d almost cut off contact with Murrit because they couldn't keep off each other. Dismas would laugh along or poke fun at them with Murrit, and then they’d drift off into conversation about something else. Sometimes they wouldn't. They’d discovered that silence didn't have to be awkward or tense or angry; Sometimes they could just relax comfortably in each other’s presence, and many times it was just better like that.

  
But every once in a while, Murrit would cling to him for minutes on end with seemingly no warning.

  
It was an early evening when Dismas was making an attempt at cooking for the two of them. It was going questionably well, considering Dismas’s damaged senses of taste and smell, and now it was just a matter of waiting by the oven. There was a (maybe?) savory smell emanating throughout the hive, and Dismas found himself nervously awaiting Murrit’s arrival for one of the first times in his life. He leaned against the counter, nearly jumping out of his skin when he heard the door open, and nearly jumping out of it again when he saw Murrit’s condition.

  
Murrit Turkin would never be the first to admit it, but the sweeps of isolation he’d put himself through on his island had a definite effect. He often found himself yearning for attention and affection these days, attention and affection he had no right to want, in his eyes. Attention and affection that he didn't know how to ask for.  
Another thing that had a definite effect on him was dreams. He didn't have them often, but when he did he found them vivid, strange, and often glimpses into timelines too horrible for him to believe to be true. He vaguely remembers one where Serpaz was the only survivor of their game. He remembers one where Ellsee and himself were both the ends of each other. His least favorite one, however, plagued his mind like sticky, numbing sopor, the colors of his friends’ own blood washing his mind of any happy thoughts. The image of what he’d done in some Alternate Timeline made his guts twist, his eyes burn, and his stomach churn as if he were sick.  
Having freshly awoken from the hellish nap that conjured up this dream, throat already feeling raw from having screamed into his pillow, Murrit barely had time to get ready for his night with Dismas before “fashionably late” turned into “nearly blowing off his Matesprit”.

  
There was a nice, Rich smell in Dismas’s hive and shit, he really was trying. Murrit stepped inside, greeting his Matesprit who could definitely tell something was up the second Murrit walked through the door. Maybe it was the dark bags under his eyes that not even his glasses could hide. Maybe it was the slight tremor in his hands. Maybe it was something else entirely. 

  
“Howdy, diz bitch.”

  
“Hey, jerk,” Dismas’s words were half-hearted as he noticed Murrit’s obvious exhaustion and stress. “You alright?”

  
Something broke in Murrit. He’d found that happening more often that it had in the past; he no longer had such a strong grip on his emotions that he could just shove them down anymore, and too often nowadays he’d found himself close to tears.  
Dismas opened his mouth to speak as Murrit walked Up behind him, all words immediately stolen from him the minute he felt Murrit rest his chin on his shoulder, a pair of scarred arms loose around Dismas’s waist. Dismas half expected this to be a joke, and for Murrit to pull his bandana off his neck in a matter of a few moments… but none of that happened. Murrit relaxed as he hugged Dismas from behind, absentmindedly asking what's for dinner. 

  
“Albion taught me how to make lasagna.”

  
“Oh,” it was never a good thing when a man of so many confusing words was this quiet, and while definitely not a bad thing, Dismas wasn't used to Murrit hugging him from behind like this.

  
He… he finds himself liking it.

  
“I'm gonna ask again; everything alright, tur… kin…?” Dismas’s voice trailed off into space when Murrit shook slightly, whimpering quietly into Dismas’s shoulder. Ohshitohshitohshit; Dismas had only seen the seadweller cry once before, and he knew that they’d both seen enough shit that it took a lot to shake either one of them. Slowly and carefully, Dismas loosens the arms around his waist just enough so that he can turn around and wrap his arms around his Matesprit. When murrit’s knees buckle, Dismas sinks down to the kitchen floor with him.

  
When Murrit spills the details of his dream to Dismas, he half expects his partner to pull away at the dawning horror of the Alternate Timeline, of what Murrit had seen, and more importantly, at what alternate universe Murrit had done. Because even if his Murrit didn't do it, what if he still had it in him?

  
But Dismas, instead, seems to sink softer and more fluid against the violetblood, small coos and words of comfort being mumbled into Murrit’s hair. Maybe part of Murrit realizes how… pale the whole scene looks, frankly. But most of him knows that neither him for Dismas’s hearts have much regard for quadrants, as it seems.

  
Murrit sniffled a bit as he pulled away. “Eh, well that's enough of my blubberin’,” He said. “Sorry for kinda… ruinin’...” he trailed off, seeing the genuine hurt and concern on his matesprit’s face.

  
“Murrit,” he asks, “is this a constant thing?”

  
“...yeah.”

  
“...Okay, first off, you didn't ruin anything,” It’s beyond awkward, but Dismas pressed his forehead to Murrit’s and… the intent was there, and that’s all either of them can ask for. “Secondly, is there anything I can do to help?” Murrit doesn't think he’ll ever get used to the almost -Pleasant- sort of skin-crawling feeling he gets from moments like this.

  
He… he thinks it’ll likely go over well if he asks so….

  
“I don't know about uhh… permanently, but…” Murrit sputtered a bit, the question stuck in his throat. “Can we just… stay like this? For a little bit?”

  
The chuckle that Dismas was trying to stifle is very evident on his face, but Murrit doesn't find himself minding. “Yeah, of course,” Dismas opened his arms once more, and Murrit buried his face in the soft fabric of his shirt. Arms and legs wrapped around his Matesprit, Murrit felt the closest to safe than he had in too long.


End file.
